"But!" he exclaimed. "But--but--always a but! And the but in this case is a mighty one. It's this--did that conspiracy exist before November 12th? Did it--did it? It's a great point--it's a great point. Now, we all know that this morning, before he was committed, Barthorpe, much against the wishes of his legal advisers, insisted, forcibly insisted, on making a statement. It's in the evening papers here, verbatim. I'll read it to you carefully--you heard him, all of you, but I want you to hear it again, read slowly. Consider it--think of it carefully--remember the circumstances under which it's made!" He turned to the table, selected a newspaper, and read: "'The accused, having insisted, in spite of evident strong dissuasion from his counsel, upon making a statement, said: "I wish to tell the plain and absolute truth about my concern with this affair. I have heard the evidence given by various witnesses as to my financial position. That evidence is more or less true. I lost a lot of money last winter in betting and gambling. I was not aware that my position was known to my uncle until one of these witnesses revealed that my uncle had been employing private inquiry agents to find it out. I was meaning, when his death occurred, to make a clean breast to him. I was on the best of terms with him--whatever he may have known, it made no difference that I ever noticed in his behaviour to me. I was not aware that my uncle had made a will. He never mentioned it to me. About a year ago, there was some joking conversation between us about making a will, and I said to him that he ought to do it, and give me the job, and he replied, laughingly, that he supposed he would have to, some time. I solemnly declare that on November 12th I hadn't the ghost of a notion that he had made a will. "'"On November 12th last, about five o'clock in the afternoon, I received a note from my uncle, asking me to meet him at his estate office, at midnight. I had often met him there at that time--there was nothing unusual about such an appointment. I went there, of course--I walked there from my flat in the Adelphi. I noticed when I got there that my uncle's brougham was being slowly driven round the square across the road. The outer door of the office was slightly open. I was surprised. The usual thing when I made late calls was for me to ring a bell which sounded in my uncle's private room, and he then came and admitted me. I went in, and down the hall, and I then saw that the door of his room was also open. The electric light was burning. I went in. I at once saw my uncle--he was lying between the desk and the hearth, quite dead. There was a revolver lying near. I touched his hand and found it was quite warm.